


Flowers

by December21st



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Futurefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-20
Updated: 2011-08-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 21:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/December21st/pseuds/December21st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Sheppard gave flowers to three women for his wedding anniversary every year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flowers

John Sheppard gave flowers to three women for his wedding anniversary every year. Any other man would call a florist, order a dozen red roses to be delivered, and be done with it. But John hadn’t found a florist yet in the Pegasus Galaxy (much less one that delivered), so every year he picked them himself, finding something colorful and blossoming on whatever planets his team was exploring during the week or so that led up to his anniversary.

Teyla Emmagan was the first woman that he gave the flowers to. She was both amused and honored that he trusted her to tell him if they were pretty enough (definitely not the gray spikes) and smelled nice enough (she vetoed the ones she insisted smelled like dirty socks) to bring back to Atlantis with him. The rest of his team put up with his annual foray into botany reluctantly. Ronon’s own subsequent marriage mellowed his attitude, but Rodney, for all his intellect, never really understood the necessity.

Katie Brown was the second woman that he gave the flowers to. As one of Atlantis’s resident botanists, she would carefully check the flowers to make sure that they were safe to be around. John had read too many reports of assorted disasters befalling various Stargate teams who didn’t show enough care with the flora of alien worlds, and he was resolved that this part of his life, at least, would not be a chapter in some classified medical journal. The year Dr. Brown informed him that the pollen of one aromatic yellow-gold blossom would have certainly killed his infant son, he knew the extra caution was worth every moment.

Elizabeth Weir was the third woman that he gave the flowers to. Every year she would light up at the sight of her bouquet of wildflowers, praise them as John ran a trail of kisses down her nose, and place them carefully in a vase that had been a wedding present from Teyla. One year might feature a staggering riot of colors and shapes, while the next could boast a handful of pale long-stemmed blooms. There were other presents too, of course, but the flowers had a special place in her heart. Once they started to droop, she would carefully press and dry them between the pages of a massive dictionary, then preserve the wildflowers in a worn album where she could still enjoy them long after their colors had faded.


End file.
